


The Last Five Years

by imbored454



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Drug Use, Fluff, Frottage, Hopeful Ending, I'll probably come up with more tags as I go, M/M, Romance, like really weird, the last five years au, weird timelines
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-05 21:37:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4195818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imbored454/pseuds/imbored454
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's two sides to every love story.</p><p>A look at relationships; how they start, how they end, and how they can be rekindled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Still Hurting

**Author's Note:**

> Okay here we go into this train wreck. Thank you to my beta, eccentricandfantastic, and everyone else who gave me some insight on this. 
> 
> You do not have to watch The Last Five Years to understand what's going on.
> 
> If you do though, please know that I've only drawn inspiration from it, the plot of this is not dependent on the movie.
> 
> And a disclaimer, do people still do that?
> 
> I don't own any of these things, I only get ideas and write them down.

Staring at the cracks in the ceiling was starting to become tedious but Sherlock didn’t know what else to do. All of his systems seemed to be offline as he couldn’t comprehend the fact that John would leave him. Yes he always had his doubts about John’s commitments to his not quite so charming quirks, but he had hoped that John, stupidly loyal John, would stick around until they were old and gray. Well, it seems that that future had been nothing but an idealistic dream.

But it had seemed so realistic. John who had promised that he wouldn’t leave Sherlock. John who stayed even when the cases were pulling him out of the city, sometimes the country for weeks at a time. John who had believed Sherlock wasn’t a freak and was worth the risk of coming out to his family and friends. John who had thought Sherlock was amazing and brilliant and beautiful.

Why couldn’t John’s praises be his drug?

Sherlock could get up and grab the vial of clear 7% solution in the inner lining of his coat pocket, but it would seem to prove that John’s argument for the dissolution of their relationship was in fact true. On the other hand, John was the one to leave; he couldn’t put up with the drugs anymore and jabbing the needle into his arm to reach a blissful state seemed like the best option at the moment.

Quickly, Sherlock grabbed his coat from its hook and snatched the vial before he could have second thoughts. 

Sherlock went into his mind palace briefly to remember where he had last hid his tourniquet set.

_Misplaced brick in fireplace. ___

With the location in mind, Sherlock held the tourniquet set to his chest as if it were a precious item, as if it didn’t cost him his relationship with the best man he had ever known.

_But what if John came back? ___

The errant thought passed through his mind before he could stop it. And how he wished he could stop it.

Nothing was going to bring John back.

John had washed his hands of Sherlock and decided getting shot out in the desert was a preferable option than getting dragged down with Sherlock’s messy life. 

_But what if you got clean? ___

Stupid optimistic thoughts in his head; he had never had an optimistic thought before John, just another side effect of their five years together.

The thought was still tempting though. What if he did get clean? Would the effects of withdrawal stop him from feeling his heart slowly cracking the longer John was gone? Or would it only exacerbate the heartache?

For one second, Sherlock hated John. It was only because John had pushed Sherlock into following his dream of being a detective that Sherlock had started taking cocaine. It’s not like he wanted to do it, no one ever sets out to become an addict - and yes that’s what he is now: a drug addict. A drug addict who pushed his husband away. 

Oh wouldn’t Mycroft get a kick out of that. He had warned Sherlock many times not to get too involved with John lest he risk sentiment damaging his thought process. But being with John had been the best years of his life, even if it had to end prematurely.

And doesn’t that thought hurt. He thought he could watch John get older and become the man he was meant to be. He thought he could watch John’s hair turn from a lovely golden blonde into a sleek silver. He thought they would retire together to Sussex where they could raise bees. He thought he had a lifetime with John, but it seems his forever was cut short.

Sherlock paid no mind to the noises coming from the room until he realized it was him. It was disturbing, his mind was a bit disassociated from his body, but his vision was blurred and the noises were getting louder. Great, wretched sobs that made his body shudder and his grip on the tourniquet set loosened.

He looked down at the tourniquet, feeling disgusted. He was ready to end this, end the horrible feeling in his chest and the hard knot in his throat. But what if ending it meant he would never see John again?

John was probably okay with never seeing Sherlock again, then again he had always been much stronger than Sherlock. He was better than Sherlock in every way, and maybe that was okay for a while, but eventually he would need someone just as good as him to love, not someone broken, not someone who couldn't keep his promises.

Besides, didn’t he tell Sherlock what he wouldn’t tolerate in this relationship? John who had grown up with an alcoholic father. John who now deals with his drug-dependent mother on the weekends. Didn’t John say he couldn’t have his partner be an addict too, that it would be too much of a burden to struggle with?

Sherlock put the tourniquet set back in its hiding place, promising himself that he would try not to find it again, and headed to their, no, _his _bedroom, vial still in hand.__

He knew John had packed up his stuff and took them to Harry’s place, but seeing how empty their bedroom was a shock. They had only been in a relationship for a year before they decided to move in together and it had showed in how integrated their stuff had become over the years.

But now, everything had seemed dull. There were no jumpers lying about because John was always tired after coming home from an 18 hour shift at Bart’s and couldn’t be arsed to put his dirty clothes in their shared laundry hamper. The collection of mugs on the nightstand had disappeared and were probably gone, packed away in Harry’s basement, not to be seen until John had decided to come home to London once again.

It was with that thought that Sherlock had collapsed onto the bed, sheets still made with hospital corners. Vial in hand, he held onto it as if it contained all the secrets to the universe. 

Sherlock closed his eyes, allowing more tears to slip down his temples before sliding his hands into his mussed hair, pulling violently on the ends every time that he sobbed. He hoped to teach his body that tears led to pain and would thus not cry anymore. No more tears, no more emotional pain. Simple as that.

It was hours later when the sun had started to rise that the sound of footsteps could be heard getting closer to his bedroom. 

For one second, Sherlock laid in bed trying to pretend it was John getting off of work and coming to bed but he knew that wasn’t the case. John was stubborn, a trait that had drawn Sherlock to him, and was not going to come back, why he couldn’t get that through his brain he didn’t know.

Eventually the sound of footsteps had stopped outside the door and he heard a low sigh.

“Oh Sherlock, I had warned you.” Even the sound of his own brother’s voice wasn’t enough to bring Sherlock back from his misery. The thought of making a remark about Mycroft wasn’t worth it without John snickering and telling him to stop before offering tea.

“Go away, please.” The desperate tone in Sherlock’s voice was enough to make Mycroft concerned, but the “please” had made him worry.

Mycroft’s brows furrowed before he opened the door.

The sight of his normally cool and collected younger brother going to pieces wasn’t an unusual sight, but it had been a while since Sherlock allowed his older brother to see him cry.

Memories of Sherlock falling down from a tree while exploring and coming home from school after being tormented by bullies flew through his mind. At those times, it had been a simple solution to end his brother’s tears, but now a resolution wasn’t as forthcoming.

Sherlock’s head popped up, his face red and blotchy, tear trails running from the corners of his eyes and hair a violent mess.

“He left. Aren’t you happy? It’s what you wanted isn’t it?” Sherlock had made an attempt at being scathing but it was more pathetic due to the thickness of tears in his voice.

Mycroft turned his head away from the sight of his brother, lips down-turned, “I never wanted this for you little brother.”

Sherlock spat, “Of course you did; you’re always telling me that sentiment isn’t an advantage. Well, now you have your final proof. Glad I could oblige you.”

Mycroft had opened his mouth to reply, but Sherlock had beaten him to it.

“Better yet, why didn’t you tell me that he had enlisted in the army? Were you hoping I wouldn’t notice? I hate to break it to you but I am more intelligent than you think I am and I would have appreciated a warning.”

“I was trying not to interfere in your relationship and had thought John would have had enough sense about him to discuss this with you before enlisting. I also thought you had enough sense to quit this drug habit of yours before it got out of hand.”

Sherlock’s face paled, his features shocked before schooling his face back into its calm façade, “I never asked you not to. I didn’t think you would even listen if I had asked. What changed?”

Mycroft’s lips drew itself into a flat line, “I thought since you have a husband you were mature enough to handle your own life without your older brother looking over your shoulder at every turn. It turns out I made a mistake that I shall not repeat again.”

Sherlock slowly sat up in bed, the vial still in hand. “You want to play big brother again then? Start with this. Get rid of it, and send your minions to clear the rest of it from the flat.”

Mycroft took the vial with a slight grimace, “Of course, they will be in and out within the day. Is there anywhere you want to go while they have a look around?”

Sherlock sighed and drew a hand over his face, “A rehabilitation clinic if you don’t mind. I have a drug habit to kick.”

“Of course. Although you do know this won’t bring him back.”

“I know, but I could try to be the man he believed in.” 

Mycroft walked out of Sherlock’s bedroom, cellphone in hand ready to make a few calls.

“Do try not to be melodramatic about all of this. John Watson was an idiot. You will get sober, you will recover from this relationship, and you will succeed without him. You are a Holmes after all, we work best alone.”

Sherlock got out of bed, determined to get through this situation. He had reached new lows of humiliation that he hadn’t seen since his schooling days. He vowed never to let anyone affect him like this again.

“Mycroft, I thought I would never have to say this, but thank you.”

Mycroft smiled, “You’re welcome, brother mine.”


	2. Shiksa Goddess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again to my beta, eccentricandfantastic, you are a lifesaver.
> 
> If you have any questions, please leave a comment.
> 
> Enjoy!

Five Years Ago

John was mesmerized by the sight before him. Sherlock Holmes was practically naked in his bed. Brilliant, amazing, and beautiful Sherlock Holmes who John thought would never give him the time of day is almost naked and writhing _in his bed _. Well, it turns out Sherlock Holmes was in turn fascinated by him and look where they are now, at the end of a very successful date about to do _something _.____

God, this was everything John wanted, so why was there guilt floating around in his stomach?

Was it because Sherlock was male? John never really gave a crap about sexuality and who liked fucking who and all that bullshit. But why was watching Sherlock, face red and neck straining as his hips tried to buck upwards, giving him this churning motion in his stomach? He really only felt like that when he knew he was disappointing his mother.

And that was it, wasn’t it? He was disappointing his mother. His mother who believed he was completely straight and had wanted grandchildren from him because she knew she wasn’t getting any from Harry - Harry who had come out years ago to an angry father, a concerned mother, and an indifferent brother.

It wasn’t until Harry had come out that John had given any thought to his own sexuality. He just assumed he would get married to some woman and settle down with 2.5 children and a house in the suburbs. But how could he want that? Sure, he found women attractive but every relationship with one had ended because John just wasn’t putting in the effort to make it work. He finally admitted to himself after five years of relentless introspection that he couldn’t see that future anymore because it wasn’t him.

His own relationship issues weren’t solved until he met Sherlock Holmes and realized he could see a future with him. But how was he supposed to explain to his mother that he was sexually attracted to women, but just couldn’t fall in love with them - and what’s a marriage without love?

This was all sorts of fucked up, but Sherlock didn’t need to know that. No, Sherlock deserved everything good in the world because the world hadn’t given a crap about him, not really. For God’s sake, he believed he was a freak because he was a genius!

Deciding that he would stop thinking about his situation, he put his mouth to use and started kissing his way down Sherlock’s neck, taking some time to bite at his collarbone.

Sherlock keened and it was such a lovely sound that John had to nip at it again. He took the almost translucent skin from Sherlock’s collarbone and gave it a few harsh sucks. Lavishing that long, lithe neck in love bites was no trouble at all for him and hearing Sherlock’s breath fasten only made the whole experience better.

John pulled back, admiring his handiwork. Sherlock’s neck was covered in a ring of small red bruises, some even started to take on a purplish hue - and all were in the shape of John’s mouth. The indentations of teeth were visible around some of the love bites. As he reached to touch one, Sherlock had opened his eyes and glared.

“I see you’ve appeased your caveman tendencies of marking things you presume to be ‘yours’, but can we please continue with where this was heading?”

John couldn’t help it; he burst out laughing. The look on Sherlock’s face was incredulous for a moment before controlling himself once again.

“Stop laughing, we’re trying to have sex here.” His voice held a slight whine to it making him sound petulant.

And that only added on to John’s laughter. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll stop.”

That’s what John loved about Sherlock. He could be so serious at times but he could tell it was just an act. For all the times Sherlock had tried to say he was a sociopath with no emotions, John called him out on it. John knew it was just a defense mechanism; that instead of not feeling at all, Sherlock felt too much.

Pulling himself from his mind once more, John gave Sherlock a chaste kiss on the forehead resulting in Sherlock giving him a fond smile.

Sherlock was beautiful when he smiled, and not one of his ‘shamming for the common masses’ smile - his true smile that John was getting to see a bit more of everyday. But that’s omitting the whole truth. Sherlock was beautiful, period. With his eyes that couldn’t decide what color to be, always fleeting from blue to green to grey, his cheekbones that gave his face a harsh edge but softened with a high flush whenever John paid him a compliment and his lips with its ridiculous cupid’s bow; God his lips were meant to have been kissed at all day.

With that thought, John captured Sherlock’s lips with his own. What was meant to be a quick chaste kiss had evolved into a wet mess of tongues sliding against each other and lips being chased by teeth.

This was nice, this he could do. All of John’s previous make out experiences were just obstacles to get through in order to reach the sex stage faster. But making out with Sherlock? It was perfect. It didn’t feel rushed at all, both of them comfortable at their own pace.

John had reached for Sherlock’s hair, giving the dark curls a slight tug in order to change position. _Better _, John thought. This position allowed their kiss to deepen. Their tongues licked into each other’s mouths, each of them giving soft moans as a sensitive spot was hit. John didn’t want to stop, but his erection was straining and he could feel Sherlock’s, a hard and thick line against his thigh.__

Sherlock’s hand was making its way down his back towards his arse, gripping it tightly. John released a low moan. He had previous partners grope him in the same way, but none of them felt as good as this. Sherlock’s large hand was warm, almost too warm, and it only added to the whole experience. Sherlock’s other hand joined in and pulled at John, encouraging him to move his hips.

John took the hint and realigned himself. Their cocks were practically touching, only separated by a thin layer of cotton and silk.

The feel of it made John gasp. Sherlock’s erection was also straining, and the thought that John made Sherlock go out of his mind with lust sent a shot of arousal straight through him.

John started to rut against Sherlock, thrusting his hips tentatively, making sure Sherlock was okay with it.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And that’s where things got a bit more heated. Sherlock’s mouth dropped open, releasing a moan, his face, blotched with red, scrunched up in pleasure.

It’s unbelievable, that _he _is the cause of this, that _he _is making Sherlock’s hips pump erratically, like Sherlock can’t control it. That’s a thought - Sherlock losing control and accepting it. John wanted to make him lose control all of the time.____

John grasped the waistband of Sherlock’s pants, peeled them down his legs and threw them somewhere in his room.

He might have stared at Sherlock’s cock a bit, but who could blame him? It was the first time he was dealing with another man’s cock in a sexual situation, and it wasn’t disgust like John feared spreading through him.

Sherlock’s cock was average length, slightly thin, and dusky red in color. It had a lovely pearlescent drop of precome on the tip. John was seriously tempted to lick him until he was mewling but his common sense seemed to kick in. John didn’t know Sherlock’s sexual history, Sherlock probably knew his, but blowjobs without a condom was something that shouldn’t be done until everything was disclosed, no matter how tempting Sherlock looked.

With great reluctance, he looked away only to notice the hungry stare Sherlock gave him.

Sherlock spread his legs, the look on his face incredibly wanton; eyes hooded, cheeks flushed red, and his lips were kiss swollen. Nothing could drag him away from this. John sat on his haunches and peeled of his own underwear until he was kneeling before Sherlock, ready to supplicate for this man’s pleasure.

“Come here.” Sherlock’s voice was gravelly and it sent shivers down John’s spine.

John could only nod before moving. He settled himself between Sherlock’s legs, this time nothing was separating them.

They laid like that for a moment, breathing each other’s air, the scent of sex in the air added to the intimate moment.

John kissed everywhere he could reach; Sherlock’s eyes, his nose, his cheeks, his lips. Every part of Sherlock deserved to be kissed. And Sherlock had to know at this point, that John could not pull himself away, not for anything. Not because John was overcome with lust, but because he _wanted _Sherlock, and Sherlock wanted him too.__

It only seemed natural to move at this point, their hips rolling cautiously against each other.

_God this feels amazing _, John thought.__

Their cocks slid against each other, that hot, _so hot _, slick sensation of rubbing against each other’s warm skin. Sherlock let breathless little moans slip out of his mouth that only seemed to encourage John.__

John didn’t know what to do with his hands. He kept reaching for the sheets, clenching them until they slipped away. Sherlock eventually reached for John’s hands, sliding his them into his sweat mussed hair. Sherlock seemed to have a clue though. His hands were sliding against John’s back, gripping at his shoulders, caressing his waist, before dropping to his arse.

The effort to breathe was secondary to the effort to move their hips. The sound of their ragged breathing filled the air as they each swallowed gulps of it; they couldn’t get enough.

They started to kiss again; it seemed more favorable than gasping. Their kisses were sloppy and open mouthed, tongues tasting each other. It was not enough.

Sherlock started to whine, his hips snapping upwards faster and faster but couldn’t reach the edge. John took pity on him and grasped him. Sherlock was hot in his palm, his precome dripping down the shaft giving him some lubrication.

John’s own cock had slid until it reached the crease in Sherlock’s thigh, rutting frantically.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Sherlock let slip every time John stroked.

John didn’t let the fact that this was the first cock he touched faze him. He stroked fast, allowing Sherlock to fuck his hand. He added a twist at the wrist on the upstroke, thumbing at the slit only a few times.

It paid off. Sherlock couldn’t control his hips, the muscles in his legs spasming. His face looked shocked, like he couldn’t believe anyone could bring him this much pleasure.

“John,” Sherlock sounded worried, “I’m gonna. _Oh God _.” His voice cracked at the end.__

John squeezed his eyes close, his own hips thrusting out of his control. His hand was shaking but it didn’t deter Sherlock who was fucking his fist.

“Yes, God, yes please.” John’s voice came out with a gasp.

Sherlock came first, his body arching off the bed with a strangled yell. The warm wet feeling in John’s hand pulled him into his own orgasm. He stilled, his mouth open in a silent scream.

This orgasm was nothing like he felt before and maybe it was a sign of _something _. Sherlock looked like he could agree. His face and body were red, chest moving erratically as he gulped air.__

John wanted to collapse on him, his forearm felt like it was going to give out on him any minute but he didn’t want to disturb Sherlock.

Instead, he turned to the side, twining his legs with Sherlock’s.

They breathed heavy for a few moments, each collecting their thoughts.

“That was,” John trailed off. He couldn’t come up with a suitable adjective to describe _that _.__

“I agree.” Sherlock still sounded breathless and that put a smile on John’s face. He kissed Sherlock’s cheek to help release the giddy feeling building up inside of him.

Sherlock turned his head, giving John a quick appraising look before smiling fondly.

“That wonderful performance will not stop me from thinking you are an idiot from time to time.” Sherlock gave a warning, as if that would stop John.

John had pursued Sherlock even when it seemed like everyone was warning him off. But John was nothing if not stubborn so he did not relent once.

“There is nothing you could do to put me off, Sherlock Holmes. Except maybe your experiments, but I’ll let those slide.”

Sherlock grinned, “What did I do to deserve you?”

“Everything.” John smirked, smugness evident in his tone.

They continued to talk until they couldn’t keep their eyes open anymore.

Sherlock woke first, immediately noticing that he wasn’t in his own bed and sleeping naked next to the probable bed owner.

He glanced at his sleeping partner. Golden blonde hair slightly curled with sweat, upturned nose, and thin lips. Ah, John Watson. Lovely John Watson who was too much of an idiot to run away from Sherlock.

He stayed in bed waiting for John to wake up, because who knows how often he would get that chance. Sherlock turned to his side in order to watch John as he slept.

That sounded creepy even in his head. Sherlock only wanted to see someone sleeping, since most people were too scared of him in order to lay down their defenses. So to see John asleep, at his most vulnerable, was something Sherlock couldn’t comprehend.

Sex, he could understand. It was the most base of human desires and even Sherlock gave in every now and then. But he had assumed incorrectly that John would kick him out of his bed once they had finished, never to contact him again because he got what he wanted.

It seemed John lived to prove Sherlock incorrect. He could live with that, it was good to be mildly surprised once in a while.

For example, what was John thinking of before they had sex? He seemed guilty; was he scared of his desire for Sherlock? That seemed logical. Anyone in their right mind should be scared of desiring him. But that doesn’t explain how John acted in, well, _the act itself _. He was loving and cherished Sherlock’s body. No one has ever done that before. Not even Victor, and that was Sherlock’s longest relationship.__

Sherlock should probably ask him. And if they were in a relationship now, they shouldn’t keep secrets from each other, right?

John was waking up, his brow furrowed as he fought wakefulness. He gave a few snuffling noises before blinking. His eyes were glazed over, not reaching consciousness yet. He blinked a few more times and sat up.

“So how long have you been watching me sleep?” John’s voice was raspy.

Sherlock grimaced, “I wasn’t watching you sleep.”

John grinned, “Sure you weren’t. Did you want coffee or tea or anything?”

John got out of bed. Mindful of his nudity, he grabbed his pants from last night and tugged them on.

“Tea please.” Sherlock called out as John left the room.

John walked to the miniscule kitchen, praying that his roommate Mike wasn’t home; it wouldn’t do if he had questions about what John got up to last night.

He filled the kettle with water and turned it on before grabbing two slices of bread and tossing them into the toaster. He grabbed everything he needed to serve this up, two mugs and a plate. He searched for a tray to put it all on when the toaster popped up.

John made a grab for them, cursing when they burned his hand. He smothered them in strawberry jam and turned the kettle off. He prepared the tea, putting liberal amounts of milk and sugar into Sherlock’s with only a splash of milk in his.

He put it all together and walked back to his room.

Sherlock was on his phone, sitting up in bed, face lit up blue by the backlight.

“Was it your mother or your sister making you feel guilty last night?” Sherlock’s voice was cool and detached.

John paled. So Sherlock did notice.

“My mother. How did you know?” He put the tray on his nightstand, giving Sherlock’s tea to him.

Sherlock set aside his phone and sipped carefully, face alight because John knew how he took his tea.

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock shook his head, “It was obvious that you were feeling guilty. Honestly, your face always gives you away. Which is something I like about you because you always tell the truth to me even though you could _try _to hide it. Anyways,” his hand made some dismissive gesture, “I knew it had to be something with what we were about to do and seeing as your mother and sister are the only ones that do make you feel bad, something I hope to correct by the way, it had to be one of them. Fortunately not enough to make you change your mind.”__

John gaped at him. He knew how brilliant Sherlock was but it never seized to amaze him when he made deductions. “I hope you know how fantastic you are.”

Sherlock blushed, “Well, what was it that made you feel guilty?”

John took a deep breath, “My mom wouldn’t approve of this, _us _. I felt bad but fuck it right? You make me happy and shouldn’t she want that for me?”__

Sherlock sat in silence, noting the darkened mood of the morning. John’s face was solemn, Sherlock desperately wanted to do something to make him smile but nothing came to mind.

“I’m sorry, I ruined the mood. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.” John wiped his hand over his face, hoping to erase his mind.

Sherlock sought his moment, “ _I _should’ve kept my mouth shut.”__

And there it is, John’s fond and exasperated smile, “Yeah you probably should have.”

Sherlock laughed, “Do you regret choosing me for your affections yet?”

That only increased John’s smile, “When you say things like that, you make me realize I was waiting for someone like you in my life.”

Was that too much? That was probably too much information, but John needed Sherlock to know what he said was true. John never knew until last night that he was praying for someone like Sherlock, someone who makes him want to be a better version of himself, in his life.

“I wonder what evil you must have committed in your past life to deserve someone like me.” Sherlock’s tone sounded amused, but his face said otherwise.

John reached out to him, gently touching his face, “Hey, don’t think like that. Come on get out of that big brain of yours and help me eat my toast.”

Sherlock turned his head, nuzzling into John’s palm. He gave it a small kiss before grabbing the offered toast.

“Thank you.” Sherlock never had anyone attempt to do that; touch his face as if he was something precious. But John looked so sad, like Sherlock would break his heart if he didn’t listen.

John watched Sherlock eat for a moment before taking a bite of his own piece, Sherlock sounded so small and it was taking everything inside of John not to grab him and hug the stuffing out of him.

“You do know we are getting crumbs in your bed.”

John grinned. If this is what being in a relationship with Sherlock Holmes is like he was prepared to do anything to keep him.


	3. See I'm Smiling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this is late, but it seems my heart did not want to write angst. So beware, arguments ahead.
> 
> Thanks again, so much to my lovely beta, eccentricandfantastic. You are truly amazing.
> 
> And, if you have any questions about the timeline, feel free to leave them in the comments below.

One Month Ago

He can’t do this. He really couldn’t do this. Oh _God _why was he doing this?__

The mantra repeated itself in John’s head. He hoped it didn’t show on his face. Being married to a genius who made it his life’s work to know when people are lying had made him somewhat better at hiding his emotions. Not that he did that frequently, it’s just sometimes he wanted to keep things to himself.

He could want that, right? To keep things to himself, to know that he hadn’t completely given everything to Sherlock.

God, that sounds like he was hiding something devious, but he isn’t, he swears. No, John just liked having the choice of being able to give everything away to his husband.

But why was knowing Sherlock was hiding something so painful?

John knows who he married; knows that Sherlock is a certified genius that could do anything he set his mind to. John also knows that in comparison, he seems like an outright idiot.

And that was fair. Sherlock spent most of his life being ridiculed for having a massive intellect and John could remain on the sidelines and watch his brilliant husband shine.

So knowing that people, even Sherlock at times, underestimated him, made it easier to observe them in turn.

When John had first found out about Sherlock’s drug habit, he won’t lie, he was devastated.

Sherlock, his Sherlock, inserting drugs into his body was a sickening thought. He almost didn’t want to hear the explanation. He just wanted to get Sherlock to hospital or a rehab or something. Anything to solve this problem and then it would be behind them.

But that would’ve been the coward’s way out and John was anything but a coward.

So he let Sherlock explain himself, he let Sherlock tell him that his mind was so active, at times too active, that he just needed it to be a bit quiet and the drugs let him do that.

John could understand that - wanting to drown out the world because it was _too much _. He just couldn’t understand why Sherlock felt he needed the drugs to do it. Didn’t he know that he could’ve gone to John with his problem?__

God, John didn’t know what to do. Well he did a little bit. He knew that if he let Sherlock continue with his drug habit, they both would be dragged down. But maybe if he puts his foot down now they could fix this.

Yeah. That sounds reasonable. John could fix this. John _can _fix this. He’s a doctor after all. Doctor is just another word for healer and he can heal this rift between them until they were stronger than ever.__

He wished that he could fast-forward through all of this. Get to their happy ending now instead of wading through the middle of their story. But is it still the middle if the beginning was going to start anew?

If he spoke these thoughts to Sherlock, Sherlock would shake his head and call him “idiot” in that fond tone of voice he used whenever he was mildly insulting John. John wants that so much - wants Sherlock - that he could barely breathe. It feels as if something had a stronghold on his heart and won’t let go no matter how much he begs.

And there Sherlock was, and instantly that too tight feeling fades away. Sherlock was making his way to the park bench John was currently sitting on.

John didn’t know why he picked Regent’s Park to have this little confrontation. Maybe because it was a neutral spot, somewhere they always meant to go together but never got the chance to. John just hoped they wouldn’t ruin this place’s memory if things turned out bad.

“John.” Sherlock paused before him, his face slightly puzzled because he couldn’t understand why John needed them to talk there.

John grimaced. Now that he knew about Sherlock’s problem it seemed obvious and he wondered how he could call himself a doctor if he didn’t realize what was going on in his own flat.

Sherlock was pale, he always was. He never seemed to burn in the little sun they got, but his skin seemed more translucent than usual. He had also lost weight. His shirts which always clinged to his thin torso billowed away from him. The last clue was the way he looked frantic, as if he was itching to get out of his skin. 

Not once in their five years together had Sherlock appeared so out of touch with himself. Whatever happened to that arrogant boy he met who blushed when he flirted with him, to the boy who had enjoyed his science experiments, to the boy who was so passionate about life? He was lost and John was left with this stranger with his husband’s face.

John decided to ease Sherlock into the conversation - he never knew what would set Sherlock off into his black moods these days.

“I think the reason we never went to the park is because of all the geese. Did you know I already saw two couples attacked by them. The Queen should really do something about this.” John gave him a look, just a quick one to see if Sherlock could see the humor in it.

Sherlock laughed, a loud and boisterous laugh that sounded like it hadn’t made an appearance in a while. When did John stop making him laugh?

“Yes well I’m sure she’s too busy with her swans to give a damn about the geese.” Sherlock murmured, amusement evident in his tone.

John sat and watched him; laughing and being happy looked good on Sherlock. It made his eyes brighter and livelier and added some color to his cheeks. He wanted Sherlock to look like this for the last year, but something went wrong, and now John needed to fix it.

John knew he should say something now, he didn’t want to waste their time. He cleared his throat, “We need to talk.” Those words sounded so final, like the beginning of the end.

Sherlock’s brows furrowed, “Is this about my recreational drug usage? I thought we had discussed this already and agreed that my reasons justified the habit.”

John closed his eyes and sighed. Sherlock never knew how to make things easy.

“Yes, but there are more things that need to be discussed. We can’t just sweep this under the rug, Sherlock. You do realize that?”

The look in John’s eyes was urging, begging Sherlock to comply.

Sherlock nodded, a quick up-and-down motion, and sat down. He squirmed a bit, making himself comfortable before folding his hands and resting them in his lap. The distance between the two was palpable and added to the awkward tension in the air.

“Thank you for coming, “John started and paused, “wasn’t really sure you would. Did you put off an experiment to come?”

Sherlock thought of his answer before responding. And when did he start doing that? Or did he always do that? John couldn’t remember if Sherlock ever had to filter his thoughts into words. Or maybe he just hadn’t noticed that Sherlock did. “I always come when you need me to.”

John huffed a small laugh, “Wish that worked when I ask you to hoover the living room or do the dishes or any chore really.”

Sherlock smiled - well a faint reminiscence of one: his lips upturned at the corners, fondness in his eyes.

“I’ll work on that.” The way he said it was so warm as if he really meant it. John wanted to believe him, he really did, but John didn’t know if he could.

“That’s the thing Sherlock. We didn’t have to work at it before. Do you remember when being together was so natural, like breathing? But now?” John paused, his breath started to come out in pants as his voice rose in volume, “Now I feel like I’m going to battle whenever we have a conversation longer than two minutes. I don’t want us to end up like those couples who stay together to spite each other.” His voice fell into a whisper, all the fight seeming to leave him, “I don’t want us to end up like my parents. I love you and I want to fix this.”

They sat in silence, watching the other visitors to the park pass them by, acting as if nothing has changed inevitably.

Sherlock stood up and started to pace in front of the bench. The tension was starting to get to him and he needed to do something to distract him.

“Why do you feel this need to fix me? I am not one of your little patients waiting to be cured. I am not something for you to rescue.” Sherlock’s tone was icy but he never paused to look at John.

John was aghast. Is that what Sherlock thought? Did he believe John was indulging in some hero complex by being in a relationship with him?

How did they get to be like this?

John started, “It’s not just you that I’m trying to fix here. I’ll be the first one to admit that I’m not perfect, far from it actually. I’m gone a lot at the hospital and that can’t be good for you. I’m just saying that I’ll try harder to make this work and who knows? Maybe this will be good for us.”

Sherlock stood to face him and closed his eyes once before reopening them, “Oh I envy you John. You think this can be solved if we both try? How nice is it in your mind if you believe that life is like a fairy tale. Do you think if you kiss me enough I’ll turn into your perfect prince charming? News flash John, this is the real world, and it’s a lot messier than fairy tales.”

John felt a churning sensation in his stomach. This time around he could identify it quickly; guilt. Did he really seem like an idiot? The fact that it was Sherlock saying it to him made it better and worse. Better because no one else had seen it and pointed out his ingenuity. Worse because it was Sherlock, his husband who was supposed to be on his side and tell him that it was okay to be optimistic even when the world was shitting on you.

The revelation made John want to spew fire. So that’s how it’s going to be? If Sherlock wanted to fight, then a fight John would give.

“Well I’m not the only one with problems here, Sherlock. You, look at you, you took drugs just to escape from the world. Whenever the world seems too big and you can’t solve its riddles, you run away. Every fucking time you run away and I am here, I am always here to welcome you back with open arms. I don’t know which one of us is the bigger idiot here.”

By this time, most people sensed that the couple were having a fairly large domestic, and while they disapproved of the location of it, they gave the couple a wide berth.

“Here. You’re going to do this here.” Sherlock hissed, he had his arms crossed over his body, subconsciously defending himself.

John wanted to scream, why wasn’t he getting it?

“Yes I’m going to do this here. God knows when we’ll be at the same place at the same time. Between my hours and your work we will never resolve this.” John’s jaw was clenched, the muscle ticking intermittently. The blaze in his eyes hadn’t faded once.

Sherlock sighed, his shoulders slumping where he stood. “And what if it can’t be resolved?”

John closed his eyes. There was a burning sensation in them and when opened them, he was surprised to see that tears blurred his vision.

“Is that what you want then?”

“I don’t know.”

They were silent, staring at each other.

John pursed his lips, “Okay then, that’s fine.”

He turned to go, but Sherlock grabbed onto his arm. His bony fingers were sure to leave bruises with the force he was using.

“I don’t know what I want, but I don’t want you to go.” Sherlock’s voice sounded tearful, but John couldn’t bring himself to look at him. If he did he would give in.

“Well, you can’t be the only one allowed to run away Sherlock.” And with that John walked away, leaving Sherlock to stand alone in the middle of the park.

Sherlock stood there watching him before taking off in the other direction.


End file.
